Runnin' On Empty
by Abi2
Summary: Remy's back from Antarctica, and he's feeling the part of the loner. When he decides to ditch the team for something bigger and better, he doesn't expect to be followed. Cue Logan. Remy/Logan
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Man sex later, graphic violence probably. It's Remy/Logan.

"Runnin' On Empty"

He couldn't help it. Well, he could, in a way, but that was a way that led to pain and self-destruction. And while he might be one to enjoy pain in the right situations, he tried to avoid it as best he could outside the bedroom.

Remy stared at the stars through the window of his room, slowly exhaling the smoke from his cigarette. If he closed his eyes and breathed in, he could almost smell the Quarter, dank and smoky with just a hint of freshness. His eyes stayed open though, not wanting to drift into hurtful territory.

He listened again, the sounds of laughter and happiness drifting on the night air. Jean and Scott, out on the grounds for a walk. The children in the den, playing games and laughing. It was as if the whole mansion were singing with joy, and he… he was watching it all. He was no partaker in the joy. He was an empath, and despite what most people thought of empaths, he didn't revel in emotions. He didn't want to feel anymore. He hadn't felt anything in years.

Disassociation, Xavier had told him when he had first arrived with Ororo. Had lectured him on the unhealthiness of the psychological issue. Remy had just laughed it off, his usual response to such things. Essex had told him that before as well. But what could one expect, really, out of an empath. Someone who felt every emotion of every other person they were around? He had become a watcher, a guard as it were.

He watched over the inhabitants of this house, helped them when they didn't even know it. He manipulated them pure and simple. Mostly for their own good, but sometimes for his own pleasures. Because what little he took pleasure in gave him the strength to keep going in the face of so much despair.

When he had come here, his shields had been well-erected, but not well enough to withstand the pure emotional rollercoaster that was the Mansion. He had felt, for the first time in ages, the joys and sorrows of the world through his own emotions. He had actually lived them, laughed in truth and cried in secret. But he was stronger than all that. He spent days in meditation building those walls around his battered psyche, mending the breaks that the indomitable cheer of the house brought.

He had survived for years in the streets, the guild, and the tunnels. Survived gangs and mutant-haters and hateful mutants. He had bedded his fair share of women, and even men when the urge struck. Or the opportunity was too good to pass up. But truthfully, when he started to 'date' Rogue, he was following her simple desire to vent. She was a lonely, angry little femme, and she needed someone to take it out on. Someone who wouldn't break from the stress. But he had taken that stress, and helped to relieve it, and now she had Joseph. She had her hatred of him, which he could taste even now with her out of the Mansion.

But it didn't bother him. It was only one of a thousand such feelings.

Warren hated him too, for reasons only Warren truly knew. But Remy guessed it had to do with the Marauders, long before anyone in the Mansion had learned of his involvement. But Warren needed someone to hate, because Warren had a lot of grief and sorrow in his head too, and it was easier to admit to hatred than to sorrow.

Remy was the friend of several of the younger members, Bobby seemed to follow him like a pup to a bitch. Remy could feel Bobby's youthful optimism, and his blind faith that drove his pranking. There was pain, but Bobby was very good at looking past it, looking to the future. Not to say he didn't have his moments, because more than once Remy became the crying shoulder for a breakup or a bad dream. But it was nothing unusual. He was the same for Ororo, and for Jubilee. For Scott he was a safe outlet for his anger and bitter disappointment, and now for his hatred. Jean simply stayed within her shields, and Remy could respect that. Perhaps it was for the best. With so many people leaning on him, unconsciously or not, he was starting to chink. His walls were crumbling under the onslaught.

His return from Antarctica had sparked more rage and hatred than even he could withstand. His shields were weak when he returned, and the hatred of his former teammates had done its job.

So here he was, back to staring at the sky. The gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to lay, filling with bitter tears. His demon-red eyes took in the scant moonlight, wondering how long he could stay.

Truthfully, he didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay, even in the face of their mistrust. Even in the face of their hate and disappointment. But now, with things coming down around his ears, if he were to stay, he would break. Completely break. Sure, there were few in the Mansion who actively hated him, and mostly his former teammates put up a good front of "unity". But they didn't know he was an empath—that he could feel their feelings, could feel their secrets. They didn't realize that he controlled his charm, that he could control their own emotions to a point.

He could soothe the anger, bleed the resentment, or bolster the flagging happiness. He could help, but never would he share that. He was a loner, and that was how it would have to stay. He could see it, almost like a precog. He knew in his very soul that he was destined for no more than this. No more than hatred, no more than a superficial friendship. He deserved no more, either, for all the things he had done. He was a cold-hearted bastard, everyone knew that now. He was cold-hearted because he had to be. He had to have that ice, or he would go supernova with all the pent up despair and rage, the seething masses of anger and hurt. His was not a happy life. His was not the lot to be happy.

He sighed and shut the window after charging the cigarette butt outside. He heard the soft boom as it exploded, and he let the anger wash over him for a split second.

Because he needed it, the anger. He needed it to fuel his strength for his next move. His things, what little he had, were packed in his duffel. His bo staff in it's holster, as always. He checked his cards and his knives, and then shrugged on his coat. Lastly, with a parting glance in the mirror, he slipped his shades back on. They were more than just a way to keep people from seeing his unsettling eyes, they were his last line of defense. When it all came down in Antarctica they never saw his abject pain, never saw his heartbreak in the face of their betrayal. Because behind those dark shades he had cried as they flew off. He had screamed after they were gone, letting his shields down, thinking himself dead already.

Remy tried to regain that feeling of utter emptiness. When he had lost his walls in the frozen plains, there had been nothing. Nothing for miles and miles and miles. He had reached to the farthest edges of his perceptions, but no one lives in that forsaken country. There had been nothing, and that had been the defining blow to his psyche. That was what had allowed him to live in this house, feeling the weight of everyone's emotions. The complete and utter loss of something so vital to him as air.

Because when he was in Antarctica, he had lived, had been made to feel his own emotions again. He had realized that he wasn't emotionless, that he could feel, despite what he had fooled even himself into thinking.

"Remy ain't nothin' but a bleedin' heart, non?"

He was a bleeding heart alright. And he felt each and every beat of that heart, felt the slow bleed of the wounds it had garnered over the years. But he was stronger than all that. He wasn't one to lie down and die. He wasn't one to let his circumstances overcome him. If he had been, he would have lain down and died so many years ago.

He strolled through the corridors, using his gifts to keep from notice. He laughed a little, knowing that it was this very gift that was slowly tearing him apart. He hadn't the strength, after his return, to deal with the harsh emotions of the team. So he had made sure they had forgotten about him. Had left him out of the loop until he had had enough time to fix his wards. He had slowly let them back into his life then. He had taken them for granted before, and while they might never even like him, he could live with it. Because their emotions were how he survived. Because—as he had made sure of this time—he would never feel anything unless he was around them.

He had completely sealed off his own emotions; letting only a scant bit through to make sure he was still alive. It was almost a visible thing, he was sure. Without the feelings, the emotions and desires behind his actions, he had stopped caring. He ate when prompted, and dressed for formalities sake. He practiced and only gave in to his exhaustion when he could go on no longer.

He had lost a lot of weight in his struggle to return to civilization. He was sure he was losing more, but he couldn't find anyone who cared enough to look at him and worry. So he drifted now, following orders and living through others.

"What a life, non? Stuck in time an' place because non want to know who y' are anymo'. If dey eva' did."

He watched the group around the table, felt the laughter and care and peace. Worries and rivalries put aside for a few precious moments. He waited. Waited for someone to look up into the shadows and see him. Looked to see if they would notice without his charm or his powers to guide them. Because, he told himself, tonight was the clincher. If even one of them looked up and asked him to join them, or even acknowledged his pitiful existence, he would stay. He would stay a part of the team, in as much as they would allow, and he would keep going.

If they didn't, well. He couldn't bring himself to care. He felt the hollow ache of sorrow, echoed in the little bit himself he hadn't cut off. He was near the end. He had survived, and he would continue to survive. But he would not survive here. There were places where he could be part of the fold once more. He was a Master Thief; he could go back to any of the Guilds and take a place in them again. It hurt, in a detached sort of way, that he could never return to New Orleans, but he supposed it was more than he deserved to still be alive.

He stared, unable to make himself turn and leave. His own desperate hopes were rooting him to the ground, making him suffer the few more minutes. He basked in the reflected glow of the table. His was only darkness and the ever-present chill he felt in his very soul nowadays.

Once, he almost felt a bit of hope as Hank look in his direction, but his eyes seemed to pass right over the Cajun, and with his hopes, he slowly slid to the floor. He wanted to think it was the lack of nutrition, that his body wasn't following orders—but he knew that a part of the wards around his heart had cracked, and that he was still reeling from the pain of his heartbreak.

"Imbécile! You knew this was the truth. You fool, you let yourself hope again. Merde, imbécile." He whispered harshly to himself as he crumpled into a corner of the hall. He heard laughter, and while he felt the warmth behind it, he imagined that they had known all along, that they had planned this. But it didn't work. He couldn't fool himself. He lashed out, uncontrolled for a moment, and he heard the collective gasp as he vented his pain.

"What was…"

"Scott, check the…"

"Professor! What did…"

Remy left his corner, defeated. He had tried to deny what he felt, and had tried to give up all that he had hoped for. But the heart dies a slow death, and apparently his had one moregreat shudder before it fell to the inevitable.

-

Logan came up the magnificent drive on his bike. It wasn't that late, so he didn't bother to be quiet. He parked the bike and, after removing the helmet, he heard the sounds of commotion. His hair bristled, and he scented for an enemy. But all he came up with was the warm night's air and a spicy musk. He dismounted and grabbed his pack, and headed towards the door. He stopped however, instinct dropping him into a crouch. He saw the movement again, and he narrowed his eyes.

He sniffed again, and was struck by surprise as he identified the figure.

"Gumbo?"

But Gambit didn't hear him, he just kept walking slowly away, almost reluctantly. Logan moved closer, and knew he was caught when the boy ahead stopped.

"Wolverine? Y'back? 's a nice night to return, homme. You been gon' too long. Jubie missed y' like mad. Bu' don' let me stop y' from goin' home. I see you 'round, non?"

Logan couldn't help the sudden increase in his heartbeats, nor the slight scent of fear he must have given at that hollow voice. Was this really the lively Cajun from all those months ago? Hadn't he died in the cold and ice, where Rogue had left him? He felt the pure thrill of joy that Gambit was alive, and he winced as he was almost knocked down by the smell of sorrow. It was everywhere in the drive, and suddenly as it started it stopped. He was left dazed momentarily, and by the time he had focused again, the boy was half-down the drive.

"Guess I'll see you later, huh bub?"

Logan felt a chill, and turned to look at the kid disappear before going up to the house.

-

Remy cursed his luck when he heard Logan's bike coming up the drive. He felt the excitement and the disappointment warring in the older man's mind. He could only guess that he was feeling a bit of both at coming 'home', and that the disappointment was mostly for leaving his wilderness behind. Remy had once upon a time entertained a few triple-x rated fantasies involving the two of them, but after finding no signs of interest from Logan, had given up those dreams. Logan had an ever-present sadness that drew Remy to him, though. Remy wanted to help fix it, to fill that sadness with something better.

But it wasn't his to have, and slowly he let those dreams be washed away by the pain of Antarctica.

When he had felt Logan stalking him, he had almost felt that same happiness he had once held for Logan, maybe that echo was the reason he had stopped and talked at all. But when he felt Logan's fear of him, when he felt the joy that hearing Jubilee's name brought, he had been overwhelmed with sadness. If only it could have been for him. If only Logan could have been the one to keep him here…

He shook his head, and never let the tears fall, even though he knew he was alone in the night.

-

Logan stepped into the house and was greeted by a small sort of panic. He dodged several youngsters, and went straight for Charles.

"What the devil is goin' on here Charles?"

"Logan, how wonderful for you to be back with us. We seem to have been attacked in a very unusual way. And by that I mean no one came to harm, but we are left wondering who would have done this."

Logan growled, "Done WHAT?"

"We were hit by a very powerful psychic. Nothing to worry about for us, we simply need to find the youngster responsible and see what happened. But I can't seem to trace them, and Jean's not having luck with Cerebro either…"

Logan stopped, that chilled feeling going through his again. Something was tickling his senses, something less-than-real.

"What was the attack? What did the psychic do?"

Charles looked pained for a moment, as though remembering hurt him. "He was in so much pain, Logan. I cannot believe that one of my students, one of my children here would be in so much pain. Perhaps it was strong enough to have come from town? I have talked with all of the telepaths here." He shook his head and put a hand to his temple. "I can almost hear it, but it's so faint now… I worry about that. Outbursts of this magnitude, of such strong emotions, they usually signify…" He stopped, that sad look coming again

"Signify what, Charles?"

He sighed, his answer for Logan's mind only as he said//Usually it is the burnout of a mutant coming into their powers. Or a death, an overload of emotions or sensations that leads to, well, a meltdown.//

Logan went still, hit suddenly with the remembered smell of despair. _That_ was what had been plaguing his senses. He could still smell it, here in the very room. It was so faint…

"I don't think it's a new mutant Charles. I saw th' Cajun kid a few minutes ago, and he reeked of the same despair and sorrow I can still smell in here." He wasn't sure if he should have even mentioned it when he saw the look that spread across Charles Xavier's face.

"I never even… Why didn't it occur to me? Logan, when did you see him, and where was he headed? Bobby, go check his room, see if… if…" He couldn't bring himself to say it. How could he have let this happen?

"I saw him jus' before I came in th' door. He had a bag, didn't seem like he was comin' back. How is he still alive? I thought…"

Charles waved for Logan to follow him as he caught him up on what had happened since his departure right after the Trial.

"So, you're telling me that for the last two months, no one's given half a rat's ass to check on the kid? How could you let that happen Charles? You'd've treated Magneto with better care than that!"

"I don't know how it happened, Logan! It's almost as if he blocked himself off somehow. I've never been able to get a good reading on him, I knew he had to have some sort of telepathic abilities, but I never explored it further. Thinking of it now, perhaps that was his own doing. Maybe he can manipulate thoughts or feelings about himself. He never seemed to use it for more than that."

"He talked about that 'charm' o' his a few times. Mentioned it was right useful for getting the dames to do what he wanted." Logan almost smiled with the memory. They'd been pissed out of their skulls, walking back after a night at the bar.

"Th' kid's not bad. He's got a lot 'a baggage, but he's a decent kid."

Charles nodded, feeling worse and worse. "I don't know how it happened, but we need to find him and figure out what is wrong. Bobby, did you find anything?" Charles looked behind Logan to the doorway, where Bobby appeared a moment later.

"His stuff's gone Professor. Everything. Except a deck of his cards, but I can't see how he'd leave 'em, they were his favorite deck. He even brought 'em back after… you know." Bobby had the decency to look ashamed, and even a bit desperate.

"Charles, I'll go tail him. Ain't no one gonna find him faster than me. You keep trying with Cerebro. I'll use my nose." Logan thumbed his nose, and gave a wicked grin that had nothing to do with pleasure and all to do with the hunt.

"All right Logan. But be careful. We don't know what kind of state he's in…"

-

Remy LeBeau sat in the bar, allowing himself to take in the glum atmosphere. Here were all the old men, thinking too hard about wasted lives, chances, times. There were those few with happiness, but the overall theme was much gloomier. He tossed back another shot of bourbon, wincing as the harsh warmth hit his long-empty stomach. He motioned for the barkeep, and asked for a water to wash down the sticky taste.

"Use't' love bourbon. Whas' wrong in th' world when a man can't love his favorite drink?"

He took a long drink of his water, and when he set the glass down, he looked around. He was trying to find a mark, someone with keys and money. A bike was the best, but if he had to take a car, so be it. His red eyes moved fast behind his shaded, checking for tell-tale bulges in pockets and jackets. When he finally found someone who had the right jacket and keys to be a biker, he looked up at the face. He was started into complete shock as he took in the feral grin of the Wolverine.

"Mon dieu! You scare th' shit outta ole' Remy, Wolverine." He bared his teeth a little, hands itching for a card to charge. He moved carefully, standing up and going nose to nose with Logan. His heart physically hurt to know that this man, who had never been on more than passing friendly terms, had been the one to track him down.

"What you do here, homme? Why you come aftah po' Remy?"

Logan backed down just a bit, his low growl gone and the feral look leaving. He took in the sight of the kid, and he came up with more anger, mostly at the idiots at the Mansion who hadn't noticed this skeletally thin boy. But Remy only felt his anger, and so he buried the hurt he felt at the knowledge, and turned on his charm. He smiled beatifically and almost purred into Logan's ear.

"Come now, you don' wan' to hurt lil' ole' Remy, now do ya? We can take dis outside, just de two of us, oui?" He knew it was working, he could feel the anger melting to the background, and he gently pushed one long fingered hand against Logan's shoulder. The growl came back, but Logan followed the movement and led them out the door.

Remy turned up the charm, wanting this done quickly. He knew Logan would have his guts for garters—he paused to try to find the humor in that—and so he wanted as much head start as he could get. He felt Logan's lust start to rise, and it spoke to a part of him he thought he had buried long ago. He pushed past the faint recollection and slid his hand into the Wolverine's pants.

"Well, never thought I'd get dese hands on dat body. But y' know what dey say 'bout love an' war…" He got the keys and moved closer to Logan. He breathed in the scent of him, and he whispered softly enough that only Logan could have heard it at all. "Well, they were wrong, cher. Dere aint' notin fair 'bout either, and it hurts more each time. Mebbe we see you again, Logan," He breathed the name, the first time he'd ever said it to the man, "I hope dat you not wan' to kill me nex' time. I dun think I could ever wan' kill you…" He sighed, and with that he pulled back and turned his back to Logan. Remy knew he would be frozen with the charm for at least another minute, so he hopped on the bike and fired it up, sending Logan his feelings of sorrow. He hoped that Logan would forgive him, but since his hopes were hollow echoes of what they once were, he didn't put much on it.

He heard the growl and shout even over the roar of the bike and the wind, he could feel the burst of emotions as though he were standing right there. Anger… but there was almost a sense of forgiveness and sorrow to it.

"Y' make up tings to keep y' heart from bein' broke, dat all. Don' be fooled, Remy."

He gunned the engine, blocking off all of the incoming emotions, not wanting to feel anything anymore. He angled west, he could find a guild in LA, and start over.

He missed the sound of a following vehicle, and without his empathy in place, he missed the driver too until it was too late.


	2. Chapter 2

Some rather unhappy graphic hurts, but nothing horrible. And I warn you, this is angsty. This isn't gonna be a fast "wham-bam" fic. This is gonna take some time.

Hope y'all enjoy.

-

Logan watched as the Cajun wove his damn spell about him, and it was as if he was frozen, looking at the scene from a distance. He could feel the animal rise to the surface, the lust the kid was pulling out of him. 'Must be that charm o' his.' He practically oozed sex, and Logan could have purred at the feel of the hand in his pocket, at the hot breath on his neck. He could smell the alcohol on the boy, and could see the bags under those dark eyes through the shades he wore, even at night. Those eyes were so sad, reaching into that soft part of Logan, wrapping around his protective instincts.

He wanted to help the kid, to take away the pain. Just like he wanted to help the young ones when they came to the Mansion. Keep them safe, because without a reason to protect, he would have been long gone by now. He could feel the charm now, almost a physical feeling, as though the air around him was heavy with the pheromones. When the kid breathed his name, he about melted. He barely knew the kid, but he knew that he never dealt in names. Logan knew from his own long life that it was just one more way to protect an aching heart. If you didn't know the ones you were with, they couldn't hurt you.

'Especially when they leave you to die like some mongrel.'

He felt the anger rising as the kid swung astride his bike and started her up. Gambit never looked back, but Logan knew that Gambit couldn't keep him frozen here for long. Even Charles had his limits, and so he let the Wolverine take control when he found himself able to move. He went and hotwired a dusty jeep, his ears still pricked to follow the sound of his bike's well-tuned engine. He could still smell the kid's spicy musk, but it was quickly covered by the smell of exhaust and machinery.

He snarled, almost a howl into the darkness.

"I'm comin' for ya kid. Don't think I ain't."

The hunt was on.

-

Remy could see the sunlight kissing the edges of the trees, but he knew he couldn't stop until he was somewhere more populated. He checked the gas gauge and cursed. He was almost empty, and there was no sign of life yet. He didn't want to dump the bike, but he had to get out of there fast. He had noticed the jeep a few miles back, it kept a steady distance behind him.

'Remy ain't been born yesterday. He know what y' up to. He jus' don' know who y'are.'

He decided to take the chance that there was enough gas to put on the extra burst of speed, and he opened the throttle completely. He was doing 150 now, and he could feel the shudder of the machine under him, could sense the metal heating, the rubber in the tires melting with the friction. He felt it as the gas gave out, the bike sputtered and died, still traveling the 150… 140… 120…80… It was all he could do to stay on the damn thing. He took the split second to glance in the rear mirror, and was at least a little relieved to see his pursuer gone, for the moment at least. But that split second was his undoing. As he turned his attention back to the speedometer he cursed as he saw the sharp curve ahead. It was a drop, how far he wasn't sure. But this would hurt. He had to get off the bike before it took him under, and at the rate of deceleration, that wouldn't be before the curve.

He was doing a wobbly 67 when he saw the jeep hauling ass to reach him. He spared a second glance to the speed, and did his frantic calculations. There was a chance of his surviving the fall without the bike. That chance got smaller when the bike factored in. His eyes widened as he realized that the bike was shaking more under his hands, and he decided to ride it to the edge, jump off, and hope for the best.

It was a good thing he didn't have much time to think about the pain that he would be in no matter what the situation, because when the bike hit that curve, he was focused only on staying alive. He turned the heavy metal and felt it start to slide as he gathered himself into a crouch on the seat of the bike. He rode the bike off the edge, flipping off in what he hoped was enough time. He wanted the dead weight as far from fragile skin and bones as possible. He was almost sure he heard a hoarse shout behind him, but he was too busy watching the ground come too slowly beneath him.

"Merde…" Remy knew he was dead if he didn't land on something soft. Mutant he may be, but invincible he was not. He had under estimated the drop off, and he was staring at the switchback below him now, coming far faster now that he didn't want it to. He looked up, seeing a shock of blue hair and silver claws. He let his empathy reach out, hoping to feel something in his last few seconds. He could feel the pain, the anguish of Logan watching him fall. It was touching, almost, but he knew it was because Logan had failed.

'Better to die alone an' fast than surroun' and slow.'

His demon eyes glanced down once more, and then they closed, waiting for the pain.

-

Logan watched as the kid opened the throttle, cursing the whole time. He had visions of what he would do to that boy for ruining his beautiful Harley. Most of them had to do with sharp objects, but one was, strangely enough, about spanking him. Like the brat he was. Logan just chuckled at that one, he'd done his share of spanking during his long life, and none of the kids at the Mansion had liked it.

But his blood ran cold when he heard the engine sputter, thinking only of the fact that the kid had to be doing over a hundred, and what could happen to a body at those speeds. He should know. But Gambit didn't have his fast healing. Sure the kid could heal double time, but a body can only take so much. He crested the hill and looked in total horror at the debacle before him. There was a drop off, a sharp curve, and his bike being driven towards them both. He forgot about the bike in a heartbeat as he watched the kid slide her, and crouch on the seat. Logan gave Gambit the credit he deserved, he knew it was hard to perform such stunts without practice. But the kid had had his own bike once, before he had…

Logan pulled his thoughts together as he forced the jeep to brake suddenly, he hopped out of the car and dashed to the rail as he watched the kid and his bike sail over the edge. His eyes almost doubled when he saw that the kid was headed straight towards a gruesome end on the pavement so far below. His heart beat so hard in his chest it hurt, and he saw the kid's eyes flash in the half-light. Then, Gambit looked down, and finished his free-fall.

Logan couldn't tear his eyes away from the wreckage below him. He heard the bike smash, and smelled the burning metal and rubber. But his hearing tunneled out, he could hear the kid's words, hear his breathing. And then he heard the gasping pain as the kid landed. His heart stopped, he was sure, for a moment. He listened, hardly breathing. But he heard the sound of strangled breathing, and he could have wept for joy. At least of the moment the kid was alive. He found the com in his jacket even as he ran to the jeep.

"Charles, Scott. I found him, been following him. He's wrecked my bike down the side o' th' mountain. He's still breathing, but I'm on my way down. Send the 'bird and Hank."

"We'll be right over. We're tracking your coordinates." Scott sounded breathless, but Logan figured it was from running. He knew Scott and Gambit had never gotten on, and he hoped that Scott would put aside his useless anger at the boy and help save a life. It was what Scott did best, saving lives.

He sped up a bit, smelling the blood of the injured Gambit, it was strong, and the smell of pain followed it. Which was good, he supposed, because if the kid was in pain, he was still alive. Logan burnt rubber off the tires stopping the jeep, but he didn't care. He leapt from the jeep and ran to the kid. He didn't touch him, but he did his best check of the injuries. He could see cuts already healing on his hands and face, but he had road rash all up his arms where the coat had shredded. The Kevlar body armor had done a good job of keeping him all in one piece, but Logan could smell arterial blood. The deep heady scent drove him to his knees to find the bleeding. The boy's thigh had taken a serious hit. It looked like the bo staff had ripped into his thigh, gouging out a huge chunk of flesh. The blood fairly bubbled out, and Logan pressed both hands to the wound, hard enough to rouse the kid.

"Merde! Wha' th' fuck…" He was reduced to inarticulate screams as Logan pushed harder, some animal sense telling him that these moments were fading fast, and so was the kid.

"Lo… Logan. What y'do? Y' leave po' Remy 'lone ta die. Y' do him dat one fava, awright?"

Logan saw tears in the boy's eyes, but he held firm.

"Boy, you're hurt bad, and that stunt almost killed ya, but I ain't gonna let you die. You hear me? We got some things we gotta talk 'bout when you get all fixed up. Speakin' of fixin', I hear the 'bird. Tha' means Hank's here to help."

Logan wasn't prepared for the absolute terror in the kid's face as he scrambled to push Logan off.

"Mon Dieu!" He gasped and swooned, but still struggled weakly. "Non! Not th' lab! Can' go back t' th' lab… Don' let the bete get me… he pull m' part, take m' and hurt m'. Non, Logan!"

Gambit's struggles ceased though, and the kid went under. Hank jumped from the plane and rushed right over. He motioned to Storm and Cyclops to bring the stretcher. He began his inspection, but left Logan to keep the pressure on the wound.

"He's got a few broken bones and a severe concussion I think. But, if we can get the bleeding to stop, he should pull through. Let's get him on the plane quick. I need my tools." He motioned for them to lift the unconscious man onto the stretcher as he held Gambit's neck straight and Logan kept the pressure on the artery wound. "You say he fell off the road up there?" Hank motioned with his head, and Logan nodded grimly. "It's amazing he's still alive."

"You're telling me. You didn't have to watch him fall. Scared the livin' daylights outta me. He just stared right up at me, didn't try to do anythin'. Just fell. Didn't plan on it though." Logan wasn't entirely sure why he had said that, maybe to soften the blow to the kid when he woke up. Logan wasn't entirely sure it wasn't a suicide attempt, but Gumbo didn't seem the type.

Hank nodded, going into his full clinical mode. They felt the jet lift off, and Logan knew that it would only be a matter of time they would get Gambit home, and get him fixed. 'In more ways than one.'

-

Hank hit the intercom and yelled for assistance. He heard the pounding of heavy boots on the floor when Wolverine came bursting through the door, claws out. He could smell the acrid stench of burning rubber and hair.

"What happened Hank?"

"He reacted badly to the sedatives. He had an episode of flinging my instruments at me, weakly charged, and started yelling bloody murder. You're probably the best person to send in there anyways. You need to give him a shot of this," He handed Logan a syringe filled with a clear liquid, " and you need to restrain him to the bed."

Logan remembered the kid's frantic ramblings before the jet had set down, and shook his head. "I dunno Doc. He was pretty scared of comin' to the lab. You've never been able to get him down here of his own accord. Mebbe he's got some… issues with labs."

Hank nodded slowly, but the doctor just sighed. "I can understand that. But he has to lie still for those ribs to heal and those stitches to take. He needs blood too, and I can't get him to stop fighting me enough to hook him up to an IV even." Hank's voice was strained, as though he wasn't sure about something.

"What's up big Blue? Somethin's not right 'bout ya. What you nervous about?"

Hank looked startled, and rubbed his neck. "I'm not entirely sure. Every time I go in there, I just… It gets hard to remember what they did to him. What we did." His voice was no more than a whisper. "I can't believe it, Logan. How could we have done this to him? He's only a kid. He always acts so old, but he's no more than 23. Probably closer to 20."

Logan's eye widened. The kid was really that young? Come to think of it, when he'd been bleeding out all over Logan's hands, Gambit had looked far younger than he ever had.

"Alright Blue. I'll go in, but until I come out, ain't no one else goin' in."

Hank nodded, and opened the door for Logan.

"Be careful."

Logan just nodded and stared grim faced at the open door. He stepped into the room and prepared himself for the worst. But nothing came at him, so he took a better look around the small room. There were no windows, the lab was underground, but there was a lot of light. So the first thing he did was turn the lights down, knowing that the kid's eyes were sensitive at least. He heard a small sigh from the corner behind the cot of a bed.

"Whatcha doin' on the floor, bub? The bed, well th' bed probably ain't much better, but it's got a blanket." He tried to use his best "soothing" voice, but Logan knew that he wasn't a real charmer. He heard a bit of a laugh, followed by a pained groan.

"Th' bed dump po' Remy on de floor wit no warnin'." Logan couldn't help the laugh as he walked over and looked at the man on the floor. He had dragged part of the blanket down with him, but there were finger-hole burn marks in the edges. Logan had to cover his nose at the smell of burnt hair and plastics. It seemed that the kid had melted the IV bags, and had burnt some of the bandages and even some hair off.

"Now, not to be uncomplimentary, but this ain't exactly the mos' dignified position I seen you in." Logan laughed a bit at the face that looked up at him. He reached a hand down to haul the boy up, and wasn't prepared frot he boy to skitter backwards so fast. He jammed himself into the corner and shook his head wildly.

"Non! Don' touch Remy! Can' take it when ya touch m' skin. It's bad 'nough wit' the world crashin' in on po' Remy. He not need no more!" He whimpered and curled around his broken ribs.

"Now look here kid. I'm gonna set you on the bed, and you're going to lie still, okay? Those ribs have got to heal, and you're in no shape to be sleepin' in the nude on th' floor." He almost laughed again when Gambit looked down and blushed. "You hadn't noticed that yet, huh?"

Gambit looked affronted for for a moment, then growled out, "You not needin' to be so amused at Remy's situation. I can tell you doin' nothin' but laugh at po' Ramy's state." Logan didn't think much of the observation, more concerned with getting Gambit on the bed again.

"Non! Don' be concernin' yo'self wit me. Ain't worth th' trouble."

This time Logan did take notice. He stepped back and crouched down, hoping to get the kid to look him in the eyes. "What are you talking about?" He watched the kid turn kinda pink, but he just moved a little closer to see if he could get that shot in.

"Non! No more sedatives… Makes Remy think bad thoughts. Make him r'member th' bad times. I'll be quiet. I'll be quiet, je jure." He hunched back, but picked up a loose bit of tubing to charge. Logan reached out and batted it out of the kid's hand before it could do real harm. It landed on the floor with a small "boom", but left only faint scorch marks on the tiles.

"Je suis desole, mon ami. Je suis desole!" Gambit looked at Logan, then away, just staring into the ether. He mumbled a few more times, but he went silent after that. Logan didn't move, just watched the kid. And the more he watched, the more concerned he got. When he walked in, he didn't really notice the way the kid had looked, just that he looked silly buck-naked on the floor. But now he saw the bandages wrapped tight around a skeletal frame, white on white. His skin was so pale, but it was always pale, so it was hard to tell whether that was normal. His hair, one of his finest features Logan noted with a strange feeling, was limp and ragged, hanging in his face and down his shoulders. Uneven and dirty. He was reminded of Blue's words outside about the kid's age.

"Look Gumbo, I won't give ya the shot, but ya gotta move back on ta the bed. He saw a small nod, and he put out a hand to help. The kid just shied away, and started to stand on his own, leaning heavily on the wall. He showed no real concern for his nakedness, only a slight blush to his cheeks told Logan that he even noticed. He took a step and started to sway dangerously, and Logan only just managed to catch him. He felt it then, the build up of power that he was helpless to stop. Logan dropped to the floor holding the kid, bracing for whatever this was going to be.

-

Remy felt pain to his very core, and he groaned it out. He knew he should be quiet, should be finding out where he was, but this pain was so bad he couldn't find the brain power to think of it. He heard movement though, and he tried to sit up to defend himself. He slammed back on the bed, a strangled gasp bubbling past his lips. There were big hands on him, taking a reading of some sort, and he felt it. He felt the curiosity, the underlying disgust. The slight worry, but the overall relief of the person taking care of him. But his perception was dampened, and his world slid around from him, so when he opened his eyes to a blue face peering on him, he freaked out. He charged the nearest item at hand and flung it, dropping off the bed in the momentum behind the swing. He heard a curse and could feel the man come closer. He perceived a threat, even as a part of him tried to stop it, his hand flung the bag of saline he found lying next to him.

He heard a hoarse shout as the bag exploded, but then he was alone in the bright, bright world. His eyes hurt so much, and his body felt no better. He felt the shift of broken ribs, and cringed at the pure pain of the skinned arms. They were scabbing over though, so they didn't hurt as bad as they could. Remy heard another set of footsteps outside, and he knew those steps. The Wolverine was here. He started to panic, but that part of him that had been trying to stop him from throwing the charged bag at the Doc told him to calm himself. Logan wouldn't hurt him, not yet.

He was unprepared for the man though. He cringed when Logan came in, his annoyance and curiosity warring with each other. They talked, and Remy slowly felt the annoyance dwindle under the concern, leaving him confused. Why should Logan feel concerned about him? He had wrecked the man's bike, and had been nothing but awful with him. He tried to stand, but when he found himself falling, he was wrapped in strong arms.

'Safe' was the only word that came through before the pain ate him alive. It started with the places where Logan was touching him, and radiated into him. He felt the desperate heat that he had tried for so many years to suppress start to burn hotter. He was frantic, trying to shove it back, to keep his powers reigned in.

But in the end, it was Logan's concern that broke him.

-

I warned you, didn't I? There'll be more sooner than later.


	3. Chapter 3

"So close to feeling alive…" – 'So Close' by Jon McLaughlin. It's a haunting song, and so beautiful. (Sorry, I'm being girly here.) But it was part of the inspiration for this fic. Glad you like it, and I hope you continue to.

-

The kid was burning, glowing now. Logan felt his skin blister, but he still held on, hoping to give some comfort. If this was a power spike like Charles had thought before, then who knew if the kid would survive. He grit his teeth and braced for the pain, hoping that it would be over soon.

-

He was burning up, his skin, his hair, his very soul was burning, and he couldn't contain it. He could feel someone holding him, someone in pain, yet still trying to soothe, and it hurt him. It hurt because for so long, so very damn long, he had been alone. So alone he hadn't even realized the depth of it. He knew it was his lot, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. He opened burning red eyes, and screamed as the power fled, blowing a firestorm in the room. He passed out, true unconsciousness now. He felt only pain as he slipped under, and he knew even as he faded that that was all he would feel for a longer time than he ever could imagine.

-

Logan woke up to a frantic Hank putting out the bed as best he could. The whole room was rubble, the kid had charged everything. It was amazing that Logan had survived at all,, but he was organic, couldn't be charged. He held the kid now, and realized that Gambit was truly out for the count now. The completely boneless way he lay in Logan's arms was testament to the fact. He sat up, groaning at the ache of healing burns. Hank turned to him and Gambit, kneeling to feel the boy's pulse. Even as he took Gambit and started to move him to another room, Charles and Jean appeared at the door. Both looked worse for the wear, and Jean watched Hank carry the suddenly small body.

"What happened Logan?" Charles was blunt.

"Don't know. Think it was a power spike. He's got a lotta power in him, and it came screaming outta him." Logan rubbed his burns, even as he ran a hand through hair that was slightly singed. Jean watched as Hank worked on Gambit, watched as the boy, even in total unconsciousness, shied away from the contact.

"His spike was so overwhelming…" She blurted out. "It was like a wall of hurt, smashing into my heart and my head." She touched a hand to her temple, still reeling a bit from the concussive psi-blast. "He hadn't shown any signs of TK, but then again…" Guilt washed over her, warring with her still-bitter memories of Gambit. He had endeared himself to her early on, but his constant shields and his evasions had worn thin. She wasn't as forgiving as she once was, and her guilt over it was overwhelming.

Gambit screamed in pain, a hoarse sound that was matched only by the arching back and the clawing hands. They all rushed over, concerned about what could be happening now. He only seemed to get worse, and tears streamed down his face as he panted in between howls. They heard some of the others coming down to investigate, and Hank tried to administer more sedatives and a painkiller, but if he gave much more, he could send the boy into arrest.

"I don't know what's wrong, Charles. There are no physical signs of damage. Perhaps this is another psi-level up?" The Beast's eyes shimmered with pain as he listened to the panting howls of the broken young man. He looked to the others, who were starting to come closer. Storm raised a hand to her mouth and rushed over, trying to get to Remy's side.

He stopped screaming, and started to pant and babble in fast Cajun, too fast to understand. The most they could understand was the words "non" and "douleur".

"No, and Pain. What's going on, Charles?" Storm asked, petting Remy's shaking hands. He tried to pull away, but she just held on, trying to talk to him, to soothe him in what little ways she could. The rest of the team simply watched, hearts wrenching at the sight of the boy. He had stopped babbling now, shaking his head back and forth, he bit clean through his lip and the blood poured into his mouth and down his chin. He coughed, but didn't, or couldn't, move his head to stop it from leaking in.

Hank turned his head, and looked at the wound, cleaning his chin with a bit of gauze. Logan's hackles went up, a low grumble starting in his chest. The animal in him could smell the blood and fear, and instead of driving him to hunt, it was driving that urge to protect his packmate, to keep him safe. He flexed his hands, keeping his claws in, just barely.

"I'm going to try to see what is going on in his head, but I'll need Cerebro. Hank, keep him as calm as you can. Put him into isolation. Everyone else, let's not just stand here." But despite his words, each face was riveted to the painful display of openness from the usually distant Cajun. It was as if something drew them in, keeping them close, unable to do anything but witness his pain. He was skeletal, and the blood from his lip drove home the stark white of his skin. His eyes were sunken, the dark circles and harsh lines clearer now than ever before.

It was Logan who snapped out of it first, his harsh growl seemed to break the silence. There was a sudden flurry of activity as the guilty team filed out, hearts heavy. Even Warren felt a little guilty, simply for ignoring the Cajun so well, but there was a small bit of pleasure too, something about the pain he witnessed pulled back the old hatred. Scott took over, directing the teams to their respective assignments. He stood back a ways, watching Storm and Logan. The Professor had stopped next to him, watching too, how much care the two had for the boy. Hank shooed them away though, having already finished preparing the room for Remy. He scooped up the fragile- looking boy, and Storm started to cry, slow tears that she didn't even wipe away.

Logan grunted, and turned. His glare sent the two men into action.

"You'd best figure out what's wrong wit' him. Before it's too late."

Charles nodded and left, Scott following. Logan looked back, another growl, but softer this time. "Come one 'Ro. Nothing to do for him right now. Let's let him rest." She nodded and reluctantly followed Logan up the stairs.

-

Hank watched the boy slowly fall back into his catatonic state, the tension bleeding out. He still tensed when the doctor came near, but it was more of a flinch. Hank sighed, and he made sure to dim the lights this time, closing the door softly. He took the vials of blood he had collected. He needed to run some tests…

-

Remy was deep. Too deep. He hadn't been this far in since before Sinister had… He shied away from the pain of those memories. He was lost in the pain already. He was feeling too much, his shields non-existent. He was as weak as a new-born babe, and twice as dumb. How could he have let this happen? One minute he's almost joking with the Wolverine, next he's off exploding the whole damn Mansion. His guilt washed over him, sharp and deep. He hoped—oh dieu he felt the horror that was his hopes surface here in this place of pain—that none had been hurt by the blast. He thought that Logan had stayed with him, but he could only guess that he had been left alone. Basic survival.

And that was what he needed now. How was he going to pull himself together He had to focus now, focus on something, anything. He needed to build his shields again. They would be stronger this time. He knew better now, he could see the danger he posed to friend and foe alike. This time he wouldn't make the same mistakes.

He tried to focus on the pain, a tool he remembered from his early years. But it slipped away, a wisp in a storm. He felt despair, and the old loathing crept up too, immobilizing his attempts. Remy felt the tears on his face, even as he felt someone reaching out to him. He screamed at the contact, his mind raw and bleeding. He couldn't let this happen!

He threw what he had to into weak defenses. They would be easily scattered, but he would find more.

He had to.

-

Charles Xavier had never had this much trouble with a mutant mind before. There was something about Gambit that just naturally shielded him from all of Charles' attempts to understand the boy. He was so secretive, and yet at the same time so open. He was, underneath the Bad-boy exterior, a soft soul. But now as Charles reached out with the concentrated help of Cerebro, he could sense so much more of Gambit's mind from behind his normally resitant walls.

"Gambit, don't be afraid. I'm not here to hurt you. You didn't hurt anyone in the Mansion. We are all worried about you. What happened? Can you let me in, talk to me? Can you even hear me? Do you understand at all?" Charles was slightly worried, but not terribly yet. While most of his X-men could still communicate while under, he knew that the spike had left the boy drained. Perhaps he should try the more direct approach.

He focused hard, searching for a crack in the walls, the feeble walls he noted as he searched. He found a hole, and as he pressed his advantage, he was thrown back out. His eyes slammed open as he gasped through the pain. There was so much pain in Gambit's mind, so much confusion and loss. Charles was not an empath, but even TK's had a sort of sense of emotional distress or pleasure. But this was unlike any he had encountered before; this one had Charles' heart beating too fast, his breath coming in pants.

He calmed down, and closed his eyes again, focusing once more on the mind of Gambit. He would find his way in, and he would help the boy to understand what was wrong, what was happening.

-

Remy felt wave after wave of pain as Charles' resumed his attack. He tried to calm down, to fight the rising panic, but it was of little use. He was too deep now, and without help, he might never make it back.

'Non! I can do dis by myse'f. I always done fine b'for, I'll do fine again.' But his bold thoughts were just whispers in the maelstrom of emotions. He knew, as much as he knew who he was, that not all of these feelings, these emotions could be his. There was too much, too big a range of emotions to be only his. He cried out as he felt Charles tearing through his defenses, adding more pain, more concern to the already tumultuous mind. He couldn't control it anymore, he felt the walls shatter and he screamed, in both mind and body, as Charles pushed past into the raw, bleeding edges of his psyche.

'Ge' out o' Remy's mind! Y' hurtin' m'!" he begged, his whole being focused on stopping the pain. He had never been without shields, and the sensory was overwhelming the sensible. He felt something shatter, deep in his mind. Something that at once sent everything into complete clarity, as well as overwhelmed him with information.

'De blocks, dey gone… Oh dieu…'

-

Charles felt his way around Gambit's mind, trying desperately to make sense of the chaos around him. He felt himself pulled deeper, and he could barely hear Gambit's mental voice over the cacophony in his mind.

'Y' hurtin' m'!' was the first clear words he could hear, and he tried to 'speak', tried to understand how he had hurt the boy. Charles' felt the mind around him start to push him out, but it was like the arms of a child, weak and small. He went deeper, and he came to a halt in the center of the storm. There was a glimmer in front of him, like a spider's web in the sun. He touched it with his mind, and as soon as he had, he regretted it as he felt something give, something shattering.

'De blocks, dey gone… Oh dieu…'

'Gambit, what blocks? Gambit, I need you to speak to me!' But all Charles got was a riptide of information, scenes from a child's view, faces and places he had never seen. He saw fights and lovers, friends and foes, all of it streaking past, immersing him in the information. He was losing himself to the flow, Charles tried to pull out, but almost as quickly as it had started, it stopped.

The dead silence of the mind around him shook him to his very core.

-

I swear, it'll get to more of the whole 'comfort' part soon! I'm just paving the way for it. Really…;)


	4. Chapter 4

(There's even some cuddling… sorta… And to put your fears to rest: Remy is not a weakling, and he's not suicidal. Just very determined .)

(Also: I am doing the fan-writer thing in which the original character is being used as a beginning. I gave him the 'charm power' and 'empathy' of most ffs, even though in the Mravel uni he doesn't have them. But it's so much fun to make him suffer. A note on his powers: He is an empath with the small ability to manipulate attraction. He is faster, stronger, able to heal as well as more agile than average, He has a very vast amount, almost indefinite, of kinetic energy he can tap into. These powers will continue to develop over time.)

-

Remy woke up. There was no transition, no moment of decision. He simply sat up, so aware of everything around him. Everything was clear, for the first time in a long, long time, Remy felt… whole. He felt around his mind, exploring the new territory that Sinister's blocks had 'saved' him from. Here was the true extent of his powers.

And oh, how much more they were. How much more powerful they were. His empathy was heightened, he could feel each emotion in the mansion, feel each person as a whole person. Each set of emotions separate and distinct to a person. He felt his reservoir of kinetic energy deepened, especially after being held back for so long.

Why had he been afraid to harness these powers? Why had he been led into the thinking that he couldn't control himself? Remy's thoughts grew dark, feeling keenly the death of his brother-in-law and the loss of his family. There, he knew, was the problem. He had been so alone and just coming into his kinetic powers. So frightened after he had done so much damage inadvertently.

He felt the usual fear of the memories, the pain and anger related to them; emotions that had at one time swallowed him whole. Had convinced him that Sinister was helping him by curbing his growing powers. But they were distant, almost like the feeling of another person.

Remy's head snapped to the side as he felt someone approach the closed door of the small room he was in. He realized after a second that the lights were dimmed and that he was attached to an IV. His intense hatred of labs and all things related boiled to the surface, and as he realized with a sort of detached horror that he was charging the IV and it's stand, but he was too late to reign in the power. The bag and metal stand blew up, startling the person at the door, sending a spike of fear and anger into his head.

He cried out, unable to stop the roaring headache that pressed his brain into his skull with every throb of his heart. He could feel the rush of blood behind his closed eyes, could feel the veins in his head beat angrily.

"Remy? You okay kid?"

Despite his usual inability to flaunt his weaknesses in front of a potential enemy—and everyone was a potential enemy—he shook his head, wincing at the pain the movement caused.

"Headache?"

The concern in Logan's voice – wait, Logan?

"Logan? Dat you?" Remy croaked, throat dry. He coughed hard, and when he woke up again, Logan was looking down at him with a hand in Remy's hair, cradling his head and neck.

"Hold up kid, don't get excited now. Yeah, it's me. Let's get Blue in here and see what we can do 'bout th' headache. Anything else hurt?" Logan's usually fierce blue eyes were trained on Remy with a gentleness he'd only seen used with Logan's "girls". Remy forgot to answer, lost in the feeling of concern and the brilliant blue of Logan's eyes.

"Kid? You with me? Hey, Blue! He's out again!"

"No- non. I'm 'ere. Jus' slow. Wha' 'appened?"

Remy felt Hank enter the room without seeing him, his eyes still glued to Logan's face. He felt the large mutant move around him, signing at the mess on the floor. "Third one this week…" Remy felt big hands pull the needle from his arm. "I should have checked on you sooner young Gambit. But when Logan told me he would keep an eye on you, I was glad for the help. You have been quite the handful, even unconscious you seem to want to wreck my med-lab!" There was a warm affection in Hank's voice and demeanor, taking the sting of the words away.

"I was jus' trying to make sure the runt was okay. Scared the shit outta me back there."

Logan had turned away, talking to Hank, and Remy felt the worry and fear coming off Logan in waves.

"Don' feel so bad, cher. Was my fault, oui? Nothin' you could do but let m' go, an' y' didn'. Guess dat make you eider crazy or stupid. An' since you ain't stupid…" Remy whispered with a slight smile. He felt the disappointment before the frown appeared on Logan's face, tearing his smile down.

"I couldn't leave ya t' die there, now could I?" Remy saw the hurt in Logan's eyes just before he walked out, leaving behind a saddened Cajun and a confused doctor.

"Well, Gambit, you've managed to survive the last two weeks. We were not certain for a few days, especially when you re-broke your ribs. But, you have healed up nicely, and soon you will be as good a new. You WILL need to eat more, though. You are far under a healthy weight, and even farther under a recommended weight. I have been pumping you with as much as I can in between your frequent destructive tendencies towards my equipment." Hank kept on, but Remy tuned him out, thinking about what he'd been told. Two weeks! He could only imagine what had happened while he was out, what he had done as his mind healed from the trauma of the break.

"Where is de professeur?" He asked suddenly, looking into Hank's eyes, feeling the uncomfortable energy around him. But Hank was not angry, and not afraid of him. He was concerned and he was curious.

"He is on his way down. He wants to talk to you. But, before he comes, would you be so kind as to take these," he held out a set of white pills, dwarfed by a giant palm. "They are pain pills, for the headache."

"Me an' drugs don' get along well, M. Bete. In fact, we ten' to avoid meetin'."

"I know that your metabolism reacts differently to medications than some, but after doing some tests over the week, I think I have found something that may help. It is still in the testing process, but since I doubt that you will submit willingly to a blood sample, it will be, as Jubilee calls it, "Guinea Pig time". Now, you will take the pills, or you will get a shot. You no longer need the antibiotics, so unless you do not cooperate," a stern look and a wave of determination, "you will not need any more shots for some time."

Remy thought about it, but in the end his throbbing head won out, and he struggled to sit up. It was embarrassing and it grated on his newly remembered sense of dignity, but Hank helped him up and handed him the pills and a glass of water. Remy looked pleadingly up to the grinning face, and was met only by a firm look. He sighed and swallowed the pills, forcing back the slight unease at the action. He had been fed some "medicines" that were less than pleasant before.

There was the sound of a throat clearing, and Hank looked down at Xavier. "Do not rile my patient. No stress. He needs rest still. I will be back in twenty minutes."

Hank left with a last glance to the pair before leaving in the line of sight. Xavier came closer to the bed, closing the door part of the way, leaving plenty of room but shielding them from prying eyes. Remy knew the tactic for what it was, a psychological move to keep the encounter open.

"It is good to see you awake and well after all that has happened to you. I give you my apologies for trespassing in your mind, but I do not regret my actions. You were in great distress, and you could have harmed others."

Remy nodded, "Oui, it was for the best." That didn't stop him from being bitter and angry about the violation.

The Professor pressed on, "The blocks that I broke by accident… Who put them there and how were they designed to keep you safe?"

Remy thought about how much information he should divulge. They knew already about his affiliation with Sinister, but how much? How much did he want this man to know about his life, his past? He weighed the decision, and decided that Xavier's acceptance of him was something that he craved, that he needed. He had to take the chance that Xavier would not understand, would throw him out.

'It wouldn' be th' firs' time.'

Remy sighed, and he started talking.

"Sinister made th' blocks. I ask him to do it though. Was frightened by m' lack o' control o' m' kinetics an' m' empathy. Hurt… it hurt so much before th' blocks."

"So you are an empath. I figured as much when you reacted so strongly around the others. Why did Sinister help you?

"I put together the Marauders. Did th' dirty work f' him." Remy shuddered visibly at the memories. Charles continued, his concern outweighed by curiosity and guilt.

"So as your abilities changed, the power behind the walls grew and the manifestations did not. What set off your empathy so much?"

"Antarctica. Came back an' ev'ry one hated po' Remy. Made it hard to keep m' shields up when I was so weak." He tried to read Charles' reaction to his statement, and received only static, a feeling of nothingness. It was equal parts disturbing and intriguing.

"How are y' blockin' me, Professeur? Can' feel a ting from ya." He almost smiled at Charles' face when he asked the question, it was a mixture of amusement and ire.

"Do not try to change the subject Remy. And I can do it because I have trained myself to do it. Just like you can train yourself to block out the world's emotions when you need to. I am not an empath, but I have had contact with several in my life. I think that I can help you erect your shields so that you are not overwhelmed with the powerful emotions of battle. Even the powerful emotions of living in a crowd. I have dampened this room as best I can, but you can still feel what is going on around you, am I right?" Charles raised an eyebrow and waited, hands steepled beneath his chin.

"Oui," Remy said as he explored the room with his powers. He found that the intensity of the emotions he felt when he had awoken were gone, replaced by a faint hum, like a background noise in his mind. He also realized, with a start, that his head had stopped aching, and that he could move without the searing pain. He smiled.

"Seems dat M Bete was right 'bout th' pills. M' head's not killin' me now."

Charles sighed, but he had a smile on his face. "We need to talk about some of the things that I encountered in my invasion of your privacy. No, let me finish." Charles raised a hand to Remy's potential outburst, and Remy closed his mouth. He supposed that in order to earn the trust he so desperately needed right now, he had to listen to the man. He nodded and crossed his arms on his chest, mindful of his still-aching ribs.

"When I entered your mind, you were under a great deal of stress. Two power surges in less than three hours, they could have killed you, and perhaps anyone in the area. I had to do it. I had to stop that. Do you understand this, because I do not want you to feel like I just traipsed through your head. I do not—do NOT—invade anyone's privacy unless there is ample cause. If there had been any other way to reach you…" Remy nodded and let some of the anger slip away, but he was still angry about it.

"Now when I first went in, you threw me out. That takes a lot of power and practice fro most people, Remy. The second time, I got in with little resistance. The pain you were in overwhelmed me and I was pulled further into your mind than I wished to have to go. I took a chance though and followed the instincts that led me to the blocks. Those were powerful blocks that were both mental and physical it seems. They were causing you great pain, and when my mind brushed against them trying to see them more clearly, they broke. I was caught in a flood of your memories and emotions. I have told you on more than one occasion that your third-person disassociation was a psychological defense mechanism. Well, you seem to repress many things as well."

Charles looked sadly at Remy, watching his reactions to the story. He didn't want to hurt the boy anymore, but they had to address some of the issues before Remy could repress them once more.

"I will not discuss too much of this today, Hank will be back soon. But I would like to see you for therapy, once or twice a week. I know that it seems silly, but what they say does have merit, that when you talk about things they can be less hurtful."

Remy shook his head, "Non, professuer. Some tings get worse wit' talk. Some tings don' need to be remembered, but we 'member them anyway. Mais, d'accord. Especially if it take me outta dis lab. Gimme th' creeps in here. Brings back too many mauvaises mémoires." Remy sighed and looked away. "Je suis desole, professeur. Mais, I'm tired now. Can' I go t' sleep?"

Charles looked at the young man in front of him, so lost right now, and feeling so alone.

"Remy, we do love you here. You are one of us. You are a part of the team, and despite what some members might feel, the X-men take care of our own. I know that we mistreated you, and that is unforgivable. But I ask only that you open up and feel some of the love we have for you." He stopped, and he let down his shields. Remy gasped at the sudden influx, but he was overwhelmed by the concern and the love. Some part of his psyche knew he needed this, needed to feel this love. But the rest of him was still so alone and jaded. It would be a long time before he could truly forget what they had done to him.

He nodded to Charles, though. Dusted off a smile and tried it on. Charles smiled as well, and just before Hank came back in, he added, "Logan went after you. But he did so because he was concerned about you. He has not left your bedside for long these past weeks." Remy looked at Charles, confused. Why would he tell him that? Even as he asked that same question out loud, he felt the irrational hope that he had buried so long ago rekindle.

"Because you need to hear it, and because some people need happiness more than they think they deserve."

Charles smiled as Hank came in, but he turned and left. "Hank, I think you should let him get some sleep. You can talk to him about what you have found later." And he was gone. Hank smiled and looked down at the man in the bed. His auburn hair bedraggled and his red-black eyes staring up from still-bruised eyes. He was a sad sight for sure. He sighed and pulled off his glasses.

"Well, young Remy, do you mind if I call you that?" A shake of hi head and a small smile let the doctor release some tension. "Well then, Remy, I think you need some sleep, and when you wake up again, we shall talk. Logan is still here, growling around my lab. Would you like some company, or would you prefer I tell him to leave?" There was an unspoken question there, one that Remy chose to ignore.

"Oui, let 'im in. Merci beaucoup, mon ami." With that Hank left, and Remy settled back into the pillows. He would talk to Logan for a while, and then he could sleep. But even as he made up his mind, his eyes slid shut and he was asleep in seconds.

-

Logan walked in with a cup of tea for the Cajun, hoping to talk a little before he went back to sleep. But as he looked up he could hear the soft breathing and the slow heartbeat of a man asleep. He wasn't surprised by the fact that the Acadian had fallen asleep still sitting up, after all the man was still healing. He sighed and set down the tea. He walked quietly over to the bedside, staring at the young face. Over the last two weeks Logan had found himself examining his limited interactions with the boy, and discovering a certain amount of protectiveness in himself that he had overlooked. It was the same protectiveness he felt towards his pack, his team and his 'daughters' Jubilee and Kitty. But it was also deeper, and it was something he was scared to delve into.

He slipped his fingers through the soft auburn hair, gently detangling the strands. He sat on the edge of the bed and slowly lifted Remy up from the pillows to ease him into a more relaxed position, but the whimper he heard had him slipping behind Remy and holding him close. He gently rocked the boy, and listened as the whimpers stopped and the restless movement ceased as well. He was deep asleep now, and Logan felt no need to move from his place behind Remy. His hands found their way into the auburn hair once more, gently petting and soothing.

"'S okay kid. I got ya."

-

He woke up with a choked scream on his lips. He shook with the residual upset that came with the nightmares. He didn't remember what it was exactly, but the bodies of those he loved had been piled up, and as he watched, they were burned. He ran a hand down his face, wiping sweat and sleep from his brow.

"You wanna talk 'bout it?"

Remy started, he'd forgotten that Logan had been waiting for him before he fell asleep. It took him a further minute to realize that Logan was holding him, and that he was practically in the man's lap. He burned with embarrassment, but he was still shaken from the dream.

"Non. After th' talk today with Xavier, ol' memories come hauntin' m' dreams." Remy shivered as the sweat dried on his body leaving him with cold pajamas and damp skin.

Logan sat behind him, gently rocking him as he softly sobbed. The images were fading, and even as his heartbeat slowed and his breathing evened, he felt safe and warm for the first time since Antarctica.

-

Hehehe….


	5. Chapter 5

(Just because y'all wanted it so bad. If you're enjoying this, tell me, because I thrive on feedback.)

-

Hank checked on the sleeping pair as quietly as his bulk would allow, and was surprised by the shine of light off of a metallic claw and a low growl. "Logan, it's Hank." He called out, hoping to pacify the man. Logan had been like this for the first two weeks, keeping watch at Remy's bedside. Only for the past few days he had been in the bed, holding Remy like a child.

"Sorry Blue. Startled me is all."

"Of course. Can you wake him for me? He needs to get up for a while, stretch and eat. I think he's up to solid foods now. Or at least semi-solid. But no matter! He needs to get up." Hank was smiling, some innate bestial instinct simply accepting the two as a pair. They needed each other, he thought. Logan needed someone to protect and to love, and Remy desperately needed to be loved and protected. Not to say that Remy couldn't protect himself, but it was the thought that counted, right? Hank shook his head as he turned away, turning on the dim lights and grabbing his cart.

"Kid, 's time to wake up. We're gonna feed ya, help build ya back up. You're nothin' but skin and bones." Logan kept a small smile reserved just for Remy, but Hank wouldn't dare say anything about it to the older man. He knew that Logan was still figuring his own feelings out, and Hank wouldn't push anything.

"Non, wanna sleep. M' warm." A brief denial, but one red eye blinked open, staring at Hank. "Henri, I t'ought you said I needed sleep?" He tried, but even as he said it his stomach protested with a growl of a definitely human nature. Logan laughed and helped Remy sit up. Both tried to ignore the slight blush on the other's face as Logan got up off the bed. He stretched and scratched a hand across his stomach.

"He ain't the only one who's hungry. I'm gonna get some grub. I'll bring ya back some real food, okay?" There was a protest from Hank, but Remy smiled and laughed. "Oui, si'l vous plait! M Bete gonna kill me wit' broth an' applesauce!" Logan laughed and left. Hank stared at Remy, studying the reactions Logan inspired. Hank remembered a sullen young man who would smile when anyone was around, but would frown when he thought no one was looking. This smile was real, and the warmth that had returned to a too-pale body was good enough reason to allow the two to sleep together.

For the last week or so Logan had started to crawl behind Remy, to hold him through the nightmares that left the young man screaming and crying. Hank remembered a time when no one would do the same for Logan, and wondered if Remy could handle the man when he woke from a night terror.

"Well now Remy, time to eat. You've been on broth for the last week, but now, I feel that it is time to move up in the world! You get oatmeal now. Now, do not make that face. I am immune to the puppy-dog faces you and the others pull to get out of things. No, I will not get you something else. Eat the oatmeal. It's good for you. It builds mass and character." Hank pushed the cart close to the bed and let Remy start to eat as he took his heart rate and checked his ribs.

"Mon ami, dat tickle! You keep doin' dat an' I ain't gonna be able t' eat anything!" Remy shied away from the big fingers poking his sides, and laughed when the fingers followed and didn't stop moving. "Henri! Non! Don' tickle po' Remy! What he done t' you?" He laughed and tried to squirm out of the reach of Hank's fingers, only to find himself suddenly back in Sinister's lab, trying to get away as hands reached for him, to hold him down and…

"Non!" Remy curled into a ball, rocking back and forth as he tried to tear himself out of the hallucination. He knew it was only a flashback, that it couldn't hurt him. Xavier had been working with him a little each day, trying to help him order his mind. These flashbacks would happen, and the only thing he could do was deal with the emotions and events leading to it, and try to move past it. Hank was concerned, and as he tried to help Remy he frightened him further. Hank knew better than to get closer when the panic attacks hit, but it was in his nature to nurture and to help.

"Remy… Remy you're safe. This is the med-bay, this is Hank. Come on Remy, calm down. Deep breaths, in and out. Good, in and out." Hank sighed with relief when Remy nodded a little and tried to breathe deep. The problem with the flashbacks was that the strong emotions they invoked tended to manifest, destroying small things like the book at the bedside or the cup. Small things, but the destruction was a loss of control nonetheless.

-

Remy tried to calm down. Breathing deep and listening to Hank's voice, but he was still too enmeshed in the hallucination. The sounds and smells of the lab wouldn't let him escape, and he tried to reign in the kinetic energy he could feel building. He was frustrated to no end by his inability to control his own mind, and his own abilities. He knew that he was safe; he knew that this was just a dream-state but he couldn't tear himself out of it.

'Charles, I think you need to come down here, Remy is having another flashback.'

Hank turned to Remy, and he said in a low, soothing voice, "Remy, Remy I am going to leave, and I will shut the door. The Professor will be here in a moment. Try to keep breathing deep." Hank felt horrible at leaving the young man in that state, but he knew it was the safest way to keep both Remy and himself from harm. Remove the threat and he would calm down faster. Hank turned and left, leaving the door almost shut.

-

Remy saw an opportunity, and he took it. The jailer was out, and had left him an opening. He weighed the options: trap, or not? He took a chance at it being a trap and new that the punishments would be severe… 'If dey catch Remy!' He slid off the bed, landing without a sound. 'I ain't no Master T'eif for nothin'!' He felt the lack of shoes on the cold tiles, but it was for the best probably, then they couldn't hear his footsteps. He ran down the corridors, using his uncanny sense of direction. He stopped fast and hid in the slight shadows as a pair of children walked past. They never even looked over. He hated that he was only in a pair of soft pants, and he would miss his bo staff, but the opportunity was perfect. He could always return for his things when he was better. He found a door, locked, and he searched himself for a pick for the lock. Finding nothing, he took his chance at blowing the mechanism. He heard the faint pop as the inside of the handle blew, and the door swung out. He was almost free!

Somewhere, though, he knew what he was doing wasn't right. He knew that he lived here, that he was in no danger from Sinister, or anything in the lab. But he couldn't pull himself out of the memories of worse times. He had enough negative associations with the Mansion to fuel his fear, and the younger Remy ran. His older self was watching, too caught up in the adrenaline rush to find a way to stop this.

-

Charles Xavier cursed out loud for the first time in a long time. Remy had gone, whether on purpose or as a direct result of the flashbacks he continued to have. "Hank, when did you leave him?" The distressed doctor wrung his hands for a moment as he answered, "Only five minutes." Charles nodded. Remy wouldn't have had a long head start.

'Scott, Jean, Logan, Storm. Gambit has gotten out of the lab. He is not in his right mind at the moment, so he may be inside, or he could be outside. Logan and Storm, check the grounds. Scott, check the lower levels, Jean, the upper floors and the garden.'

He received three 'yes sir's and one growl.

'I hope, for Remy's sake, that we find him soon. Between Logan and his lack of dress, he'll be unhappy when he gets back.'

-

However, it was the cold and the woods that brought him back to himself. He realized as he shivered that he didn't really know where he was. He knew that he couldn't have been too far from the Mansion, but he couldn't feel anything nearby. His ribs ached in the cold and with the hard panting he was doing. The stabilizing bandages Hank had left on for safety's sake was the only protection against the chill evening. His feet were hurting, bleeding from a few minor puncture wounds. Remy leaned against the rough bark of a tree, and stared at the sky. It was late, the sky was a soft red and the night was coming quick.

Remy breathed deep. The scent of pines and woods and fresh air had torn him from the strange episode. The scent of the lab was no longer all around him, making him uneasy. He crouched at the base of the tree and tried to decide what to do. He could try to call for help, and pray that the Professor could hear him. He grimaced at that thought. He hated to rely on outside help when he needed to escape. He could try to wait out the night, see if they sent anyone after him. He felt a sharp ache when he thought about that. Would they send anyone after him? Charles had said that Logan had come after him last time of his own desire. Maybe…?

It wasn't his lot to be happy, he reminded himself. He was the watcher, the subtle helper. He had felt the Canadian's fear in the night, had felt the mixed-feelings Logan had when he was around him. But Logan had held him when the nightmares got bad. Had been there for him every day since the accident.

But he remembered how, once he had been happy with his life and family, they had thrown him to the wolves. He knew that anyone who pretended to love him only loved him because of the charm he had. It was simple lust, or an attraction they couldn't deny. They had to have him closer in their lives, be it like a son or like a brother, they were ensnare by his own damn ability.

There were hot tears rolling down his face, slowly cooling in the breeze. It hurt to remember the pain that his charm had brought him. To be adored without love, to be lusted after and not cared for.

'Logan deserves better. Mon dieu! I t'ought I had finished de stupid dreams. I have no use fo' dreams. Dey only make y' hurt more, in th' end. Th' best ting is t' forget them, t' let 'em die before dey even born.'

He sunk his head into his arms, pulling his knees up to cradle his head on. He stopped crying, pulling his emotions back behind the walls Charles had helped him erect once again. While he knew how to make them, and he did it instinctually, he had needed help to learn how to erect a shield that could cut his emotions off from the emotions he got from the other people around him. He took the lessons and used them to wall up his broken heart, to try to put it behind him. He had done it once, and he could damn well do it again.

Remy looked to the sky again, wiping the tear-tracks from his face. He still hurt with the memories. He still felt the pain of having to realize that his dreams were only that, dreams. But it was a pain he had lived with for a long time now, ever since he'd met Logan, really. Remy thought about the closeness he and Logan had shared over the last week, and had to remind himself that he would have to get on alone again. Now that he was healed, and now that he was no longer a part of the team, no matter what Charles said, Logan would forget about him. Would get over whatever guilt or confusion he had about Remy's leaving, and move on.

It hurt, physically hurt, to realize he would have to push the man's comforting arms away. 'But you can' depend on anyone t' stay, t' save you. Y' gotta do it on y' own.'

-

Logan could smell Remy, and he followed that scent. There was no heavy sweating, no wandering path. He wasn't frightened or hurt. But, the animal part of Logan was crying for the hunt. He needed to find Remy, and he needed to find the answers. Why did he run off? Wasn't life at the Mansion getting better for Remy? Was he really so unhappy with himself, or even with Logan?

He growled as he padded softly through the trees. The smell of the missing man was thicker here, stronger. Logan stopped and sniffed. There was something off about his scent. Salt… Tears. Why would he be crying?

Logan felt himself losing the battle with his animalistic side, and he growled out something, but as soon as he had, his human consciousness was swept behind the feral.

-

It was full dark now, and Remy shivered harder. "If de fucking wind would stop, mebbe I could get warm, non?" He heard a branch snap to the right, and he stood up with a leaf in hand, charged. It might be nothing, or, if his luck ran as per usual, it would be Sabretooth or someone equally as unpleasant. "Show y'self!" He shouted, glad that if no one was there, no one would know he had challenged the wind.

"You gonna blow me up, bub?" Logan faded into existence, a dark figure lit only by the reflected light of the charged leaf. His voice was strained, and Remy felt uneasy for a second before he replied.

"Merde! Logan, y' scare m' t' death! Mon Dieu!" Remy threw the leaf and it faded to ash before it hit the ground. "Get me th' fuck outta de woods, cher. M' freezin' m' balls off." Remy moved closer, wanting both the comforting presence Logan offered, and the help getting back. "I don' know where we are, don' remember much till I stop 'ere." Remy stopped moving when he heard a low growl out of the dark figure, and heard the slight snick of his claws releasing.

Remy backed away, in no condition to fight Logan. He eyed the area behind him, trying to see a path through the trees. He knew it was mostly fruitless, but he had to try. Anything was better than dying here without trying. "Logan, mon ami, y' don' know what y' doin'." He stepped back again, almost losing his feet as the leaves shifted below him. He only registered the snarl before he found himself buried under 300 pounds of snarling Wolverine. His hands scrabbled to the sides, finding plenty of leaves to charge, but he stopped as he felt two claws on either side of his neck, and the third pressing against his adam's apple.

"Mon ami, wha' are you doin'?" His voice was soft, but his heart was racing, and his ribs ached where Wolverine was sitting on him. A growl, and he felt Wolverine shift, his head dipping down till Remy could see his eyes. He was feral, his eyes a golden hazel color in the dark. His teeth were bared, but he made no move to hurt Remy.

"Logan, y' don' need th' dramatics wit me. I woulda come wit'out 'em." He tried to shift Logan off of him, or at least try to get Logan to shift himself. But Logan's knees pressed on either side of his chest, wrenching a grunt of pain out of Remy. "That hurts, Logan!" He whined, deep in his throat, and was surprised to feel Logan shift. He could breathe again, and his ribs creaked, but they still felt solid. Remy lay beneath him still, panting air into tight lungs. The claws disappeared with a little sound, and Remy found himself nose-to-nose with a concerned feral. He could feel the confusion, and the simple desire to comfort.

"You are all sorts of confusin' Logan." Remy shivered hard, the cold damp of the leaves at his back contrasted with the radiating heat of Logan's body. Remy found himself with Logan's head buried in his neck, and then gentle hands picking him up. The casual strength of the shorter man never failed to amaze, and Remy marveled at it as he was carried like a child.

"Where we goin', Logan?" Remy felt the need to repeat Logan's name, to remind him of who he was. His question was answered with a grunt, and soon Remy saw signs of men, and he heard a shout.

"Scott, Hank, Logan's got him! Logan, where did you—" Jean was met with a low growl.

"Hey Jeanie, he's not in his righ' mind righ' now. He went all feral on m' in th' woods. Don' know why, but I'm back, so dat's what matters." Remy put a hand on Logan's chest, and whispered in his ear, "Let's go, mon ami. I'm cold." Logan stopped his growling and moved past Jean, only to be met with Hank and Scott.

'Hank, Scott, Logan's gone feral.' Jean sent.

"Logan, you need to let Gambit down so that Hank can check him over." Scott's voice was stern and unyielding. Logan snarled, but didn't move to fight. "Now, Logan." Scott continued, but he was interrupted by both Hank and the Professor.

'Let Logan take him inside, he seems to be protecting Gambit.'

"Logan, would you take Remy inside? I bet he's cold. And hungry." Hank made a motion with his hand, like he was calling a dog. Remy shook his head, feeling the low rumble in Logan's chest. "Non! Don' move, he's no' all dere." He put his hand on Logan's and pointed with the other to the Mansion. He made a pleading noise, hoping to appeal to the feral nature.

It worked, and Logan stormed past the two stunned men into the Mansion.


	6. Chapter 6

--

--

I feel so bad for just leaving this for so long, but RL got in the way. Midterms, essays, tons of reading… Why did I want to go to college again? Anyways, thank you all for sticking with my procrastinatory bum.

--

Remy blushed as he was paraded through the halls, whispers floating after them. But even as his head ached with the emotional overload of the mansion's very vibrant inhabitants, he felt his heart return to it's proper place. He could feel the constant hum of emotions behind those barriers he had erected in the woods. Smooth glassy walls, hard and unyielding as the ice they were modeled after. He shivered and nestled a bit deeper, feeling the shame as he realized how he must look. Him, six feet of lanky, half-dressed, phenomenal Cajun body, being held like a two year old child by a man who stood almost a full foot shorter than him.

He felt the arms tighten as he shivered, and that tiny feeling of protection, of warmth and love and peace, it trickled through. But before it could really begin, it was frozen, another layer to add to his wall. Remy tried to squirm, tried to find the hurt pride and wounded dignity he should have been protesting, but he couldn't seem to find them. Logan growled and pressed tighter, halting Remy's attempts to freedom. A door was opened and Remy found himself let into a clean, very bare room. A low bed, more of a mattress on the floor, in the corner farthest from the window, was almost nest-like, but the rest of the room was impeccable. Remy looked again, and realized that was because there were only a few possessions actually in the room.

But, before much could be made of it, he felt himself lowered onto the bed, which was surprisingly soft and really rather comfortable. He groaned as he felt his ribs shift again, and he pressed a shaking hand to the dirty bandages. Remy startled back, hands reaching for a missing card as he rolled to avoid a face coming at him. His instincts were obviously still working, he thought as he crouched low in the corner. He paused and relaxed after a second, mind coming full circle.

"You know, I t'ink I need t' work on moi reaction times, non? I seem t' be getting' rusty in m' old age." He laughed, hollow and humorless. Logan stared down at him, having retreated to remove the threat of his presence. His head cocked to the side,a nd he moved slowly closer, sniffing a bit.

"What you sniffin' poor ol' Remy for? He knows he ain't had nothin' near a decent cleanin' in weeks. But really, dis a bit much, oui?" He held out a hand to keep the feral man at bay. He was surprised once again though, by Logan's oddly gentle touch. His hand was grabbed gently and examined, and the hand followed down Remy's arm, searching for bruises and pains. He paused as Remy winced almost invisibly. There were a few places that were still a bit sore, and having those gentle hands press on them sent shivers down Remy's spine. Logan grabbed the other hand, and searched it as well before moving to Remy's ribs. He seemed to understand the need for the bandages, but he pressed gently none the less, wringing a pained groan and a deep whimper.

Remy, of course, found his pride and dignity again after he heard himself making such a ruckus. "'T'aint tha' bad. I t'ink I'll live, mon ami." He couldn't stop the light blush as Logan disregarded his words and pressed gentle hands to his abdomen and lower, feeling his thighs and calves down to his bloody feet. Logan sniffed at the blood still there, but must have decided that it wasn't worth worrying over because he set the foot back down and crawled up close to Remy. Remy was still in the corner at the head of the bed, trapped by Logan against the wall.

Logan Peered close, face inches away from Remy's. Remy stared at deep golden-hazel eyes, framed by dark hair and skin burnt brown by lots of sun. He could smell a musky aftershave or something, something masculine and comforting. He felt young again, looking into the eyes of a stranger, searching for something… But it was gone, and all that remained was Logan's face, and Logan's feelings. Simplistic as they were, they were deep and true and devoted. A warring sense of compassion and confusion, hobbled by a feeling of…

Remy made himself stop there. He didn't want to know, and he didn't want to provoke anything. He smiled and leaned in, every bit the smooth talking gentleman he could be.

"Logan, cher, you gon' just keep starin', or you gon' do somethin'? Look, Remy's gotta get back t' th' medlab," He shivered at the idea, "an' get somethin' t' eat." Logan tilted his head to the side again, listening but not comprehending the words and meanings. He did hear the soft grumble of an empty stomach, and he laughed. Remy scowled and shoved at Logan's shoulder. He succeeded in making the man laugh harder, and he rubbed his hand where he had pushed on Logan. "You're a solid man, mon ami." He tried to stifle a yawn as he looked away, wondering if Logan would let him leave or if he would be able to eat something while vertical. Vertical sounded nice right then. His eyes drooped a bit, fighting gravity and exhaustion.

"But, 'm hungry. Can' a guy get some food round here?" He leaned heavy against the wall at his back and was calmly surprised at finding himself moved into a more comfortable spot. "Mebbe in a bit, non?" He yawned again, and he watched the older man's smile turn down a bit as he drifted off.

'Merde, I'm tired of bein' so tired. Ain't like I did much t'day.'

--

Logan stared down at the whelp below him, shifting him into a more comfortable position for the night. Logan would go get some food in a few hours, the whelp needed to eat in order to heal. He was too skinny for his tall frame. His broad shoulders were boney, and Logan could feel each rib below the bandages. Until then, he would keep watch. Make sure the whelp didn't go anywhere until those feet healed and his ribs stopped aching.

He took his position near the door, facing the window in case of attack. He crouched on the floor, resting and thinking about how the whelp made his heart patter too fast.

-

Remy shivered. Even his dreams of New Orleans were cold, tainted by the ever-present chill in his psyche. He was a proper Southern boy, born and raised in the muggy heat of the swampland. A place where even in the middle of winter it never got truly cold, hardly dropping below freezing on those really bad winter nights. A place where summers were lazy movements, slow and conservative; because the heat was oppressive, and it was like a damp oven, but it was so beautiful and green and alive.

Remy shivered. Dreams of fire, like the ones he had as a child when he came into his powers, held no warmth. The terror heightened by the freezing tongues of flame.

Remy shivered and curled into a small ball, only able to focus on staying warm, staying alive. There was no warmth in the world anymore, not for him. He wouldn't be warm again.

--

Logan heard the whelp shuffle around and whimper softly, almost too low to hear. But Logan did hear it, and he cracked an eye in the direction of the bed. The whelp was curled tight, a big ball in the corner of the bed. Logan hauled himself up without a noise, moving over to the bed. He stood there, watching the play of light on the brownish red hair. In the end though, another whimper had him petting that hair, trying to calm down what had to be a bad nightmare. Nothing worked though, so Logan did the last thing he could think of. He laid down behind the taller man and just held him close to his own warmth, giving silent support to the dreamer.

After a few minutes the whelp stopped shivering, and after a goodly amount of time he slowly began to unfurl, like a leaf on a tree. He fell into a deeper sleep cycle, and eventually even the Wolverine succumbed to the gentle thump-thump-thump of the Cajun's heart,

--

Something is better than nothing at all, right? Here ya go. Something. Thanks to those who have reviewed, you each made it easier to write this. Your support means a lot to me.

Thanks for reading. More (hopefully) in a while.


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